True Selflessness Does Not Exist

"Your food's here!" a person said after knocking on her door.

Diana waited until the person on the other side of the door disappeared before opening her door slightly and peeking through the gap. Once she was sure that the hallway was empty, she unlocked her door and quickly grabbed the cardboard box of food.

She didn't know who it was that came up with the idea of having people deliver food to homes with nothing more than a phone call and leaving the payment underneath the doormat, but they were her savior.

Not wanting to meet anyone, see anybody's faces, or even be in the presence of another person, this was the only way she had been eating for over a month.

Her azure blue hair fluffed and cascaded in a way that it resembled a jellyfish with the bell being the part that wrapped around her head, bangs down the middle, and the tentacles being the two tails that trickled over her chest as well as the rest of her hair that traveled along her back.

"Thank you for the food," she said as she began munching away at her meal.

It was a little cold due to the trip that the delivery guy had to take from the restaurant to her home, but Diana didn't care. It was delicious.

After eating the final bite, she placed down her spoon, and there was a huge smile on her face.

What a satisfying meal. Unhealthy, high in calories, but it had all the flavors she was craving.

"..."

Sitting there on the floor in silence, that smile slowly disappeared.

Her lips twitched as she muttered, "Look at me. I'm a student at Trinity Academy, always on the honor roll… pass my courses with nothing less than an 'A', considered one of the most talented students, and yet… and yet…"

Yet she was eating like a beggar and was hiding from the rest of the world as if she were a criminal.

She wasn't a criminal.

He was.

That bastard was.

That bastard — Bell Agnus.

She pointed her index finger at the cardboard box and watched as it froze. She was imagining the box as if it were that bastard who had ruined her. 

Once it was completely frozen, she slammed her hand and crushed it into shards of ice.

Grinding her teeth, she was about to swear when she heard a voice coming below her.

It was her downstairs neighbor.

"Who did that?! People have work in the morning! Keep it down!"

"Oh. S-Sorry!" she apologized after bouncing into the air like a cat who was surprised.

The neighbor's shouting had cooled her down, and after staring at the icy mess she had made, she muttered, "I should clean this up."

Hopping onto her feet, she ran to grab her broom.

* * *

"What do I do with this?" Bell pondered as he stared at the wooden box in his hand.

Lying on his bed, he proceeded to toss it into the air, catch it, toss it into the air, catch it, rinse and repeat over and over.

Even though he was alone in his bedroom, he still had on his gloves. As a matter of fact, even during dinnertime, he kept the gloves on. 

This strange behavior didn't escape Tiara or Godfrey, but neither of them questioned him about it. 

Although the dragon eye had a lot of use, especially unknown ones that were only discovered later on in the novel, it wasn't an item that Bell needed at the moment.

"Should I trade it for items I need now or soon?" he pondered.

Shaking his head, it wasn't worth it.

His family had enough wealth that the items he desired could be bought with money. There wasn't a need to trade this valuable item for those things.

After ten minutes of tossing the box into the air, he finally made up his mind.

"I know who is in need of this far more than I am at the moment."

Once he makes contact with that person, he would have to prepare himself to toss away everything he knew about the chronological order of the story, but he had been prepared for quite some time now.

Just him entering Bell's body had already activated the butterfly effect.

Rather than holding onto the known story and desperately trying to shape history to play out like it did in the novel, Bell knew it was smarter to just embrace change and adjust accordingly, rather than panic at every difference that appeared before him.

The next day.

"Young Master, the library?" Jerman asked.

"No."

Jerman wanted to raise an eyebrow, but he held it back.

"Where to, Young Master?"

Trying to recall the location of the person he was seeking, Bell knew that they resided in the south-western district of St. Vernon. The specifics he wasn't sure about, so he just instructed Jerman to drive around the district in search of a two-story building that reeked of chemicals.

As they made their way to the district, Bell was trying to reach into the crevices of his memories.

The novel gave a decent description of the building he was seeking out. He just couldn't remember what was described about it.

'Something blue. Blue. Blue..."

Jerman peeked at his Young Master through the mirror and wondered what was going on in his mind. Why had he changed his schedule? Why did he want to head to the south-western district? And why was he searching for a building that he didn't know the location of? How did he know about this building?

'Never mind. I'll only hurt my brain trying to understand my Young Master's thoughts. Just follow his instructions. No worries. No stress.'

And just like that, any complex thoughts he had, Jerman tossed them into the trash, burning them into ash.

As they were just circling around the district, driving around endlessly with a real destination in mind, Bell, who was close to frowning, suddenly had an epiphany.

He could vaguely see the words from the novel.

'Blue vines.'

"Jerman, look for a building with blue vines. Two-stories. Chemical smell."

"Yes, Young Master."

After twenty more minutes of scanning each block carefully for the building with blue vines, they finally found it.

"Shall I follow you inside, Young Master?"

"No. Just watch the car. There shouldn't be any danger, but I'll call for you if I need it."

Entering the building, he was immediately greeted by the smell of food — very fragrant food. It mixed with the scent of chemicals but was powerful enough that it masked it and would confuse most people, who could only assume that it was the cooking that produced such a strange smell.

"Welcome to Blue Rascal. We specialize in food founded in Ganarsha. What may I—"

The owner stopped midsentence as she saw who walked through the door.

"What a handsome young fella."

Taking a quick glance at his outfit, she could tell that he was raised with a silver spoon. What could someone of that stature possibly be doing here? It couldn't be for food. It had to be for—

"Ah! My back has been hurting lately!" she announced as she walked towards Bell.

'If you're going to send a secret signal to your daughter, at least make it a little less obvious.'

Although he could've exposed her right there and then, he was actually craving this sort of food. Based on the novel, it resembled Thai food.

"Could I get a menu?" he asked.

"Of course," the owner responded, handing it over to him. "Grab any seat. No one's here other than you at the moment, so the world is your oyster. Hehehe."

Taking a seat, he glanced over the menu and realized that although they had different names, all he had to do was match the ingredients and he'd be able to find the Earth-equivalent of the items.

"Let me get a number 2, a number 17, and a glass of water."

"Will that be all?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright. Be back shortly with your water, then your food."

"Thank you."

He could hear whispers in the back where they were making his food, but ignored them.

Once the owner came back with his water, he took a few sips and waited for his food to arrive about five minutes later.

'It smells amazing. How I've missed this.'

As soon as he took a bite, the spices attacked his taste buds.

'That's a good kick.'

Eating, drinking a little bit of water, eating some more, he eventually finished ten minutes later. It wasn't that he was rushing to get down to business, but he was just a naturally fast eater.

Once he was handed the tab, he pulled out his wallet and paid what he owed. 

"Thank you for visiting. Hope you come again," the owner said.

Bell didn't move an inch, and he just said, "Come on. Both of us know that's not why I came here."

"...It wasn't," she nervously gulped.

"Stop being so scared. I'm not here to expose your daughter or harm any of your family. You can tell your husband in the kitchen to put down that knife."

Bell could see his shadow through the door, and it was so easy to tell that he was holding a knife.

"No. He… I won't tell him to put it down until you let us know where you're here."

"I just want to help you guys."

"We don't need your help. Just leave our home and go about your day. We don't bother anybody. We just mind our business, sell tasty food, and live our lives peacefully."

"Are you sure you want me to go?"

"Yes!"

"Yes!" a second voice, the husband in the kitchen, also sounded.

"Even if I can save the life of your father?"

Bell could hear the sound of the knife accidentally being dropped. It clanked a few times on the floor. 

There was a silence so thin that even a butter knife could cut through it.

"I don't know who you think you are, but the audacity to come into my restaurant… into my home… How dare you utter words that you don't mean. Leave."

Rather than responding with words, Bell reached into his pocket and pulled out the wooden box. He placed it down on the table.

"W-What is that?"

"It's the thing he needs to survive. The eye of a dragon."

The owner's face went pale, her lips parting in disbelief. 

Was she hearing him right?

It couldn't be. Her eyes darted back and forth between the young man before her and the wooden box he placed on the wooden box so casually as if it was just a random old junk you could find at an antique store.

It was the one thing her family had been seeking out for so long. Even though they knew they'd never be able to afford it, just the confirmation that one existed for sale was more than enough hope for them to last another day, another week, a few more years.

Slowly, hesitantly, she stepped forward.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, and once her palm hovered over the box, she was too afraid to touch it. What if it was false hopes? What if this stranger was playing games with them? She didn't know how she'd react if the box was a container of lies.

"Open it," Bell said softly.

"I… I can't. I'm too afraid."

Glancing towards the kitchen, her husband emerged — a broad-shouldered man with lines etched deep into his face, his apron stained with grease, flour, and spices. He didn't forget to pick up his knife just in case he needed to use it.

He didn't trust Bell. Especially not with his wife in his proximity.

Eyes also locked on the box, he asked Bell, "Are you lying to us?"

"No."

After taking a moment's breath, he finally opened the lid.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet, was indeed a dragon eye. It was a glistening orb that pulsated faintly with this internal crimson light. It resembled a gemstone but didn't shine like one. It felt alive. It breathed slow and steady breaths like a creature about to awaken from its slumber.

Everyone in the restaurant could immediately feel the overwhelming pressure and aura that the eyeball emitted which made the air thick and heavy.

Instantly, he closed the lid.

"It's… it's really true. It's a dragon eye," he muttered in disbelief.

The man's eye stiffened and he was tempted to clutch the closed box and hide it inside of his clothes, but that wasn't the kind of person he was. His knees gave out beneath him and once he dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, he pressed his forehead against the wooden floor.

His wife, seeing her husband so desperate, followed suit without hesitation.

Both foreheads against the floor, their voices cracked with desperation.

If a stranger were to peek through the windows, they would've thought that Bell was a debt collector or something.

"Please… please… we'll do anything you want!" the owner cried, her voice hoarse and heavy with tears that began to flow endlessly. "You don't know how long we've prayed — how long we've begged just for the chance to see one… even if we could never have it!"

"We'll pay it off in installments. No! We'll take out loans, we'll sell the restaurant, our souls, everything, if we must!" her husband added frantically. "If it's labor you want, I'll work until my bones snap and my flesh turns to ash. Even after death, my skeleton will serve you! If you want me to take a life, I'll be your blade!"

Bell didn't speak at first. He simply sat there, watching them.

There was no satisfaction in his gaze, no smugness, no pity, no arrogance — just a quiet calm.

"I don't need anything from you," he finally said.

The couple froze. That sentence of his was the worst thing you could hear in their positions.

Slowly, they looked up at him, eyes wide, faces streaked with tears that refused to slow down, disbelief etched into every line. Their eyes showed zero signs of belief in Bell's words.

"...I don't mean to offend you… Sir, but no one gives away something like this without asking for something," the husband said carefully, afraid of making a mistake. "There's always a catch. There has to be and… me and my wife are willing to pay for it. We don't mind the catch."

"There isn't a catch," Bell shook his head.

The wife reached out, fingers clutching the hem of Bell's black trousers like a child begging his mother not to abandon him. "Please, just tell us the price! We'll pay! We want to pay! We need to pay! If it's our lives, we'll stab ourselves right now!"

She grabbed the knife from her husband, ready to push it through her chest as soon as Bell asks for it.

'I would say they're overreacting, but… it is a loved one they're trying to save.'

Tone firm but not in an unkind manner, Bell replied, "You don't owe me anything. Don't get me wrong. This isn't charity. I'm not a saint who goes around looking to save people. But… I'm not asking for anything from you guys. The act alone of handing your family this dragon eye is the payment I'm seeking. The push in the right direction, if you may."

He was speaking in riddles to the couple. They looked at him with trembling reverence — like he was either an angel… or he was the devil wearing a human face.

Maybe both.

"But…" the man muttered. "Why? H-How? How does this benefit you in any way? This eye could buy a small country, no, multiple countries."

Bell thought about it for a second.

"Let's just say I'm here in this world for a reason."

'A reason that I'm not even aware of.'

"And I hope that this dragon eye, it'll help fulfill my purpose once I hand it over to you guys."

"...And if it doesn't?"

"That's a gamble I'm willing to take. On the offchance that this hinders me in the future… I'll just deal with it accordingly," he said while giving a plastic smile.

Silence — the kind that presses on the chest like grief.

The wife let go of his trousers, her hands now clutching her own shirt, as if trying to steady her own heart.

Even if it meant that they were being deceived.

"I'd like to accompany you when you give the eye to him, if that's alright."

The husband didn't hesitate, "Y-Yes. Of course. It's because of you that we even… have this chance. Please. Rather, I insist that you come along."

They didn't trust him. How could they? Neither of them understood what Bell had said fully. Nothing about this situation made sense. A stranger walks in, drops an item on the table that could start a war, and claims to want nothing in return? No one was that selfless — even if he claims that this action is for a cause that will potentially benefit him sometime in the future.

They feared he was a mastermind — that this was the start of something far greater, a scheme they couldn't comprehend, a trap that was going to ensnare their family.

But they didn't care.

Just by looking at each other's eyes, the couple agreed that they were willing to become pawns.

They were willing to march straight into the deepest pits of hell.

They were willing to do anything if it meant saving the man in the bedroom upstairs. They were willing to become anything.

The husband led the way, his footsteps uneven with adrenaline. He was so nervous about dropping the box that he was holding it more carefully than when his daughter was first born. 

Passing through a narrow hallway, past shelves of jars filled with herbs and salves, through a crooked wooden door at the very end, they entered a bedroom cast in dim yellow light emitted by a lamplight on top of a desk.

There, lying in the bed, was a frail old man whose breathing was so shallow it barely stirred the blanket on his chest. Any shallower and he might well have been cosplaying a corpse.

His skin was ghostly pale and thick veins of red and orange ran along his arms, neck, chest, and jaw — branching out like the patterns of a lightning bolt. The veins pulsated faintly, similar to the way the dragon eye had.

'Dragon Fever…'